


Dinner and Diatribes

by thebraxiatelcollection (songofgallifrey)



Category: Bernice Summerfield (Big Finish Audio), Doctor Who (1963), Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: F/M, Song: Dinner and Diatribes (Hozier), Sorry Not Sorry, face it this song is meant for brax/romana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofgallifrey/pseuds/thebraxiatelcollection
Summary: Braxiatel and Romana are both at a tedious dinner party and are forced to make social obligations when all they want to do is leave. Braxiatel/Romana, inspired by the song Dinner and Diatribes by Hozier.





	Dinner and Diatribes

 

__

* * *

 

 _Honey, this club here is stuck up_ _Dinner and diatribes_  
_I knew it from the first look of_  
_The look of mischief in your eyes_  
_Your friends are a fate that befell me_  
_Head is the talking type_  
_I'd suffer Hell if you'd tell me_  
_What you'd do to me tonight_

_Dinner & Diatribes by Hozier_

* * *

 

“This place is ghastly.”

Braxiatel tore his gaze away from the oil painting which showed Gustav Klimt the kiss and glanced at Romana. He had been studying the painting for over a couple minutes now. The painting itself is a fake for he had gained the original in his own personal Collection after a visit to Gustav himself where he watched him get drunk after a night with women. Besides, the brushstrokes on the painting were all wrong and he couldn’t help but give a secret smile to himself, wondering if the owner of the painting knew of the matter.

“Quite,” He finds himself agreeing with her as he takes two glasses of wine from a passing waitress and he hands one to Romana before she could protest. “But we are here on social obligations and to make an impression.”

Romana sighs through her nose before straightening her posture. “I only wish I thought to have sent for somebody else instead if I knew the party was going to be so dull. It would have saved so much time.”

“That would have made a bad impression on you,” He chides, though he did find himself agreeing with her once more about the party. It was rather dull. All the ambassadors here seemed to avoid them as though they were sharks in the water and there was hardly any entertainment. Literal and metaphorical. He sips his wine, the taste bitter in his mouth that he grimaced. “Remind me to invite you to one of my dinner parties. Now those you’ll never get bored.”

Romana gazed up at him, the corner of her lips pulling up into a smile. “I do believe I have never been invited to one of your dinner parties in all the years I have known you. Invited round for tea, yes, but never to a dinner party.”

He finds himself smiling like the cat who caught its prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce. “I promise to invite you to the next one. You’ll get the full VIP treatment at the Collection. It’s been updated drastically since your last visit.”

“Your friend Bernice mentioned you had quite the update,” Romana agrees and sips her own wine. If she found the wine disgusting, she did not show. “She also told me you once held a small dinner party during the occupation.”

Ah, there it was. He looks down into his wine, suddenly finding it fascinating as he watches the bubbles dance and swirl. “Did she hmm?”

“Brax,” Romana’s voice was stern but there was a hint of warmth hidden in between the lines. “I know what you did. You _poisoned_ him.”

“And myself,” He corrects. “I poisoned _both_ Anson and myself with Hulzarrian carp that I got inspired by after watching a Hulzarrian opera.” He pauses and sighs. “I thought that by killing myself, I could prevent the occupational from happening because I thought I was the one behind the scale of the Axis at the time because how else would they have risen to power and conquered all those planets so quickly? But we both now know; it was the Daleks that were behind them in the end.”

“What changed your mind?” Romana asked, tilting her head slightly to study him.

“Benny stopped me from killing Anson, eventually. She suggested that because our bodies could survive extreme trauma, what if this poisoning lead to my future self to help the Axis out of revenge? Five-dimensional thinking.” He fingers his wine, watching the liquid drip from his fingertips before putting the wine back down on the table next to him.

Romana frowns, mulling what Brax told her over. “How did you both survive?”

He meets her eyes, giving her a wry smile. “Why Romana,” He says with almost a purr. “We had Angel Delight for dessert.”

When Romana was about to ask what Angel Delight had to do with surviving poison, somebody tapped their glass loudly, clearing their throat to gain attention and Brax gently touched Romana’s elbow and they both turned to see one of the ambassadors of the Nekkistani race stood on a small platform in front of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen and to those of you with more sense,” The speaker addressed them, it’s voice neutral.

Romana tries to listen to the ambassador, but she was more occupied in her thoughts on what Braxiatel had said about poison and realized why Braxiatel used the Angel delight on both Anson and himself.

_It contained the antidote._

“Dinner will be served in five microspans. Please make your way to the dining hall and take your designated places. No last-minute allergy checks will be made at this point. You have been warned you are eating at your own risks. Thank you.”

The ambassador hopped off their little platform, and the crowd began to murmur, heading towards the dining room with greedy eyes that were too big for their stomachs.

“If the food is anything like the party, I will lose my appetite very quickly,” Romana whispered to Braxiatel as the two followed the rest of the crowd.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, my dear.” He whispered back and they entered through the double doors and Braxiatel pursed his lips in disgust. “But then, you could be right.”

The dining room was dark and was lit only by candles and a fireplace, the thick red curtains closed over the windows to prevent any light from entering the room. The dining table was a long, dark wood with dark chairs to match. The paintings in the room were sombre and hard to see in the dim lit room.

“You’re sat in front of the fireplace, right in the middle,” Romana whispered to him, pointing to his seat where his nameplate was sat. “I’m sat in front of you.”

“Are you sure you can manage on your own, my lady?” He couldn’t help but smirk.

Romana whacks him on the arm. “Of course, I can manage, thank you.”

“Only checking my lady.” He chuckles and gives her a nod. “I’ll see you on the other side.” He leaves her to find her own seat as he fights his way through the disorganized crowd and takes his seat in front of the fireplace in the middle of the table. He removes his nameplate and puts it in his pocket, knowing it would come in handy for later. Besides, it technically was a free gift.

He felt a kick against his shins under the table and he glances to the side to see if it was any of the other ambassadors accidentally stretching their legs or whatever they have under the table but then he looks across at Romana and sees her giving him a pointed look as if to say; _put that thing back where it came from or so help me._

He plastered a smile as the other people around him finished taking their seats and he slowly put his name tag back on the table, straightening it neatly in front of him.

“Drink, sir?” A waiter asked, leaning in to arrange the glasses on the table.

“A whiskey, if you will,” He says, not taking his eyes off Romana who was now talking to another waiter, asking for some water.

“Of course, sir.” The waiter disappears behind him and the noise becomes distant background chatter to his ears as though he was sitting in a coffee shop as he continues to look at Romana whilst she was distracted.

The dress code in their invitation to the meal had been simple but direct. Ladies had the choice to wear anything green, the men were required to wear black suits and non-binaries had to wear something grey.

But Romana, out of everyone from this party tonight, she was the most beautiful. She looked radiant, outshining everyone, even the fire. She wore a lovely, long V-neck evening floor dress with a silver necklace of the Gallifreyan symbol of the Time-Lords on. She had her hair done half-up, half down in gentle curls and she smelled _divine_. What was that perfume she was wearing; he really must get her more of it. He made a mental note to find out.

The waiter returned, pulling him from his gaze and handed him his whiskey just as more waiters came and brought them their aperitifs which seemed to be a simple prawn cocktail except for the salad that came with it seemed to have gone stale. He takes his whiskey and sniffs it, checking to make sure it wasn’t poisoned as the rest of the food was but with narrowed eyes, he puts the glass back down.

He pursed his lips and begins to poke at his aperitif with his fork as though it might suddenly come alive and bite him in the neck but doesn’t touch it. Who would even serve such foul salad to such important people like the President of the Time-Lord's? It was a disgrace and he made a note to make a lengthy complaint to their host and to the chef afterwards. Possibly even have the chef erased from the Time-Lines and have him reborn and relearn on how to cook properly.

He looks around him and notices other ambassadors didn’t seem to notice the badly cooked prawn cocktail or the vegetable soup that seemed to smell. Why was nobody else complaining about rotten food? Why was nobody else taking an interest? Unless they simply didn’t care if they were going to die from food poisoning.

As Leela would say, this whole place reeked with death.

He looks back at Romana and finds her poking her food. She pulls a face of disgust and puts her fork down and pushes her prawn cocktail away from her.

Braxiatel however, did see a plate of olives that looked healthy and strong and cocks his head to the side and he grabbed his fork and leans over, pierces the olive and examines it in the flame that reflected behind him for a moment, watching the yellow and red combined with the dark green off the olive, almost the same colour as Romana’s dress before he eats it, never taking his eyes from Romana as he does so.

He blinks once, then twice, letting the taste of the olive settle in his mouth to rid the taste of the prawn cocktail. The olive was edible.

Romana meets his cold, blue eyes, and he gives her a grin. One of the ambassadors next to her, a human with a ridiculously long moustache put a cigar in his mouth and offered her his lighter, asking her to light it.

Romana crinkles her nose at the ambassador who stubbornly thrusts his lighter at her and Romana raised her eyebrow at Braxiatel who calmly watches her as she takes the lighter in her hand and lights the cigar. The human ambassador puffs it with satisfaction and takes the lighter off her, nodding his thanks to Romana as Romana rolls her eyes, frowning with disgust at the smell of the cigar which continues to puff.

He goes for another olive, swallowing it before putting his fork down and runs a hand over his face and his moustache, finding the room warm and he goes for another sip of the whiskey.

There was nothing more Braxiatel wanted than to leave this party right here and right now with Romana. To take her into their shared rooms upstairs, to touch her, to feel her against him.

He sees Romana excusing herself and getting up to go to the restroom but one of the waiters shakes it’s two heads and guides Romana back to her seat. “It’s an offence to leave even for the rest room during a meal offered by the Nekkistani race.” Its left head says calmly, and it’s right nodded vigorously.

“My _apologies,_ gentlemen,” Romana says, her eyes flashing irritation at them as she reluctantly sits back down. “I meant no offence.”

The waiter smiles and takes away her prawn cocktail before leaving the room.

Since when were guests such as the President of the Time-Lords couldn’t leave for the restroom?

An idea occurred to him and he nods at Romana and after a few moments, after everyone had finished their aperitifs, he puts down his handkerchief and attempts to leave for the restroom.

“I’m sorry sir,” Another waiter says, this time a human. “You can’t leave until the meal has finished.”

“I am Cardinal Irving Braxiatel from Gallifrey, surely we are allowed to use the restroom?”

The waiter shakes his head. “Not until the meal is finished. Those are the rules.”

Braxiatel clenched his hands at his side and turns back towards his seat. Something felt wrong about all this. An uneasy feeling settling inside him before he looks back at Romana with a shrug. “It was worth a try.”

Romana nods, her left hand stretched out on the tablecloth and gripping it tightly until it crinkles. Braxiatel stretches out his legs underneath the table, careful not to bump into the other ambassadors until his own legs seek out Romana’s.

Romana gave him almost a breathless smile and he could sense her taking her shoes off before rubbing her foot underneath his trousers and up and down his leg. He bit down his tongue, holding back a purr.

Was it him or had the room got incredibly stuffy since they sat down?

The waiters came and cleared the starters after everyone had finished. The ambassador who offered Romana his lighter before turns to talk to Romana, making her laugh.

He couldn’t help but glance at the ambassador with a cold, killer smile, watching his every move as though warning him if he attempts to flirt with Romana further, he would be sure not to wake up in the morning.

Romana’s foot was still rubbing up and down his leg.

Their entrée came, a mixture of seafood dishes, meats and vegetarian options were delivered for each different guest.

Romana removed her leg as the waiter came and delivered her a Hulzarrian sea dish.

He stiffened, tilting his head in curiosity. This was clearly a well-delivered irony on their hosts part considering they were just talking about Hulzarrian sea dishes earlier, even if the host had unintentionally done this. But Romana had picked out her dish of choice earlier and brought up the dinner party with Anson so Romana must have known. Must have done it to send his mind thinking.

A waiter leaned across him and he received a steak option which looked overcooked.

The dinner party was so, so dull. The ambassadors next to him weren’t even worth attempting to talk to. All they cared about was greed and money. He let his imagination drift, imagining somebody knocs into a waiter behind him and spilling red wine all over his black suit. He could see Romana with the lighter in her hands and the gentlemen with the moustache and beard beside her offering her a match. She lights it and throws the match at Braxiatel with a satisfied smile, as though she had planned this moment for a long time, just waiting for the opportunity to strike.

He could feel himself burning, the fire reacting to the spilt alcohol over his suit instantly that he felt like Hades himself and Romana was his Persephone both of them trapped together in this eternal hell and the two never able to leave.

He sees Romana crawling against the table as he sits, unable to move, trapped within the flames. Why was nobody doing anything about it? All the guests, all the waiters staring blankly ahead except Romana.

She was so close, yet so far out of his reach. He would never have her.

She grabs a stick and attaches a marshmallow to it. Where did she get the marshmallow from? Her whole presence was distracting as the flames, making him lose concentration that it almost came too hard to breathe.

She crawls across the table, pushing dishes away and heats up her marshmallow, her dress low that he could see her breasts but he keeps his eyes steadily upon her face as she moves back into her chair, taking a bite of the blackened marshmallow.

Until the waiter dropped a lit match onto her lap and she caught fire too.

“Brax?” Somebody echoed his name and snapped him out of his daydream. How long had he been staring into the distance for, he didn’t know but he glances down and sees that everyone had finished their dessert but him?

He turns to see Romana looking at him with a puzzled glance. “Are you all right?” She asks, concerned.

“I’m fine,” He lies, moving closer to the table as the waiter behind him accidentally drops his glass of wine he was carrying, letting it crash to the door. “I’m fine. Just a little warm.”

“You zoned out there for a moment,” She says with a small smile. “Another one of your daydreams?”

“I merely lost track of my thoughts.” He says, and he sees amongst the table people were finishing their dessert and leaving the table and back into the party. “It looks like people are making their exit.”

“Good. I'm rather afraid if I eat another bite it will give me an upset stomach,” Romana puts down her own handkerchief and slips her shoe back on. “This party pretends to be so pretentious it’s almost an offence.”

Braxiatel gets up after her and steps in beside her, glad to be away from the fireplace. But if necessary, he would suffer in hell for her. Always for her.

“You have that look of mischief in your eyes which just screams trouble.” She comments wearily.

“What look?” He purrs, looking innocent as he guides guiding her gently away from the party. “ _I was just merely thinking of what you’re going to do to me tonight in the bedroom.”_ That was what he wanted to say, knowing the desire between them both was strong but nothing could ever happen between them. But instead, he says; “I was merely thinking.”

Romana almost gives him a smile. “Thinking for you means scheming plans.”

“Oh Romana,” He looks almost affronted as he presses the button for the elevator. “I’m always scheming.”

Only this time, it was different.


End file.
